We're Like Starsky and Hutch, Man!
by selbokar
Summary: Charles Xavier is an ex-FBI agent, who probably couldn't be any more bitter about losing his job. Peter Maximoff is an agent whose purpose in life is to annoy the living shit out of any and all human beings within fifty feet of him. So when a serial killer case that's been quiet for over ten years is suddenly reopened, who better to call then these two? Modern day, detective AU
1. Chapter 1

**So just so everybody knows, I'm reposting all the original chapters because they weren't exactly up to par. That's what's going on, just wanted you people to know :)**

"Shit," Charles swore to himself as he discovered exactly how many messages had been left on his phone. Most of them were unimportant - companies selling things he didn't need nor want - but 42 messages on one cell phone after having only been away from connection for three days was quite a lot to take in.

He clicked through them rapidly, listening to the first few words before deeming the message useless and deleting it. There was one from his mother, which he started to listen to, but after about three minutes of '_WHY DON'T YOU GET A REAL JOB_' and '_MAYBE IF YOU WOULD BRUSH YOUR HAIR_' he was bored and deleted that as well.

The next few were also of no interest to him, and Charles was about to put the device down and simply carry on with this later, when he heard a familiar voice float out of the speaker.

"Xavier, it's McTaggart. I know it's been a while, but we need you for a case. Call me back as soon as you can, please. This is important," said the feminine voice of Moira McTaggart, an old colleague of his. An old _ex_-colleague of his.

Groaning, Charles let his head fall back on his dinky couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose in aggravation. He and Moira used to be partners in the FBI, back when Charles was still a semi-decent person.

However, Charles was no longer working for the FBI, and for Moira to call and say they needed his help was both rude and unexpected.

But, against his better judgement, he redialed her number and waited impatiently for her to pick up.

"Moira McTaggart, head of BAU press," she answered in her professional voice. Charles rolled his dark eyes and picked at the bed of his nails. _Of course she's made the PR spot she wanted... _he grouched to himself, his brow lowering.

"It's Charles Xavier, and this had better be a damn good case you have," he grumbled coldly, his British accent emphasizing the annoyance in his voice.

Moira's tone changed instantly. "Charles? Thank God it's you! Oh, I've missed you so much!" she exclaimed happily. Charles could essentially _hear_ her smiling through the phone. The long haired man sighed and pulled a face, rubbing his eye with his knuckle.

"Yes, yes. Hello to you too. Now what the _fuck_ do you want?" he demanded impatiently. He heard a soft _oh _from Moira's end, followed by a male voice chuckling,

"_Oh damn!_" The female FBI agent hissed several things at the other male, which Charles couldn't understand, before her voice returned to the speaker.

"Sorry, I've taken you off speaker. Okay... right, um," she seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "Look, I know you probably won't want to do this, since you've gone all 'private detective' on us-"

Charles' eye twitched and he jumped to his feet angrily, the robe he'd thrown on over his clothes flapping out behind him. "I didn't 'go all private detective on you'!" he thundered, "I was kicked out of the FBI! And need I remind you whose _fault that was_?" There was a long moment of tense silence before Moira finally spoke.

"Listen, Charles. I'm really sorry about that. But it's been almost ten years. I honestly think you should've put that behind you by now," she insisted as calmly as she could, though she was a little shaken at his outburst.

Charles rubbed his hand over his nose and fell back onto his couch, sighing. "What's the case?" he grumbled. His old partner was silent for several moments, before the sound of her rifling through papers could be heard.

"Oh, um, it's a serial killer. One of the cold cases you were on while you were still here. Um... I thought you'd be a good person to call to help with it. Er... you'll also get paid quite a bit, which I thought you'd like."

Charles ran a hand through his shoulder length hair, before blowing air out through his mouth. "Go on, what case is it? Was it the devil man? That asshole military general?" he demanded, going over all the cold cases he'd worked on in his head.

There was the sound of Moira typing on the other end, and she paused for a minute, not speaking. "I can't tell you over the phone. But I _promise_ it'll be worth your time, Charles! _Please! _We _need_ to catch this guy!"

Charles groaned as she continued to plead. It would be nice to be back at headquarters, working on real cases again. But if Moira was involved, that meant at least _one_ other member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit would be working on this case too. "Sean isn't on this case is he?" he grumbled, and Moira chuckled. "What's so funny?"

"Charles, Sean left the bureau like five years ago. Nobody's heard from him since. The team is basically all new now, you don't have to worry about anybody you don't like," she informed him, and Charles transferred his phone to his other ear. "C'mon, Charles!"

Groaning again and knowing he was going to regret this later, he rubbed his eyes. "Does Shaw know?" he asked. Sebastian Shaw was their boss, and he didn't take kindly to outsiders getting involved in his people's cases. Moira snorted at him.

"Yes, Shaw knows. I wouldn't just go calling you and asking for help if my boss didn't know about it," she stated as if that were the stupidest question she'd heard in a while.

Charles hesitated, before saying curtly, "I'll do it."

Moira made excited noises over the phone, and Charles loudly protested that he, "Was _most definitely_ not doing it for her! He was doing it for himself and for the money, so she had absolutely _nothing_ to get excited about."

When the woman had stopped her thanking, Charles demanded, "Is that all? Because I'm hanging up," in the most extreme rude voice he could muster. Moira made several loud noises to stop him, and he refrained from hanging up.

"Try and make it here by tomorrow morning if you can, the rest of the agents working on this case should be here by the afternoon, but they've already been briefed. I'll tell you about it when you get here," she informed him, and Charles sighed.

"Alright. I'll be there," he spoke, and he ended the call before Moira could do so much as say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

_Fuck. FUCK._ Charles cursed to himself as the cab got closer and closer to the FBI headquarters. They were going down a route he knew all too well, and his stomach was turning at every little obscure landmark he'd mentally filed for remembering the way from the airport to the large headquarters.

He was regretting this very much, fidgeting with the bottom of his blue sweater uncomfortably. He'd nearly had a mental breakdown in the airport when he saw the sign that read "Welcome to Washington DC". He was not excited to say the least.

They passed under a small tunnel, and Charles was slightly surprised when there was different graffiti then he'd seen before on the concrete walls. Then he remembered. _It's been ten years since I've been here. Ten whole years._

_"Moira calm down," Charles laughed at the woman beside him, slapping her playfully on the arm. "It isn't as if we've never been on a case before!"_

_"I'm sorry, Charles," Moira bounced up and down, her straight brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She was rubbing her hands together, her tell that showed she was nervous. "But CIA cases are different then FBI cases, and I don't want to fuck it up."_

_"You aren't going to fuck it up, dear," Charles smiled at her, putting his hand comfortingly on her knee. She stopped bouncing, and looked at him in the eyes. "If it helps, I was just as nervous on __my first day. You're going to do fine."_

_Moira took several deep breaths, shaking her head back and forth with her eyes closed. "Alright, alright. I'm good. I'm fine. It's gonna be great. I can't get fired on the first day," she reassured herself. Charles laughed, clasping her on the shoulder in a friendly gesture._

_"That's the spirit!"_

Charles' memory was interrupted when he saw the large white building they were approaching. He put a hand over his stomach, which was threatening to forcefully shove it's content out of his mouth. Charles groaned slightly, and the cab driver said jovially, "If yer gonna spill yer guts, there's a bag back there in the seat back pocke'."

The long haired man seriously considered taking it.

This was a bad idea.

The cab stopped on the curbside, and the driver, an old Irish man with a beard and several missing teeth, turned around with a hand out.

This was a bad idea.

"Tha'll be twen'y dollars," he said, and Charles fished out a bill for him, dropping it into his hand and scooting awkwardly out of the cab, opening the door with some struggle due to the large duffel bag on his arm.

This was a bad idea.

"Alright, thanks," Charles said, earning a wave from the driver. He then slammed the door and watched as the yellow car sped away. He stood on the curb like an idiot for a long minute, his brown duffel hanging loosely from his hand and sitting uselessly on the ground.

This was a _very_ bad idea.

* * *

_Bounce, pap. Bounce, pap. Bounce, pap._ Moira took several deep breaths, trying to stop herself from breaking her pencil on the paper she was writing on. _Bounce, pap. Bounce, pap. _There was a musical interlude in the song that was playing from a young man's phone speaker. _Bounce, pap. Bounce, pap._

The music halted for a moment, a singular violin chord playing. Moira braced herself, squinting one eye nearly shut and leaning away from the young man on the floor. "_AND I_," he held out the note terribly, flipping onto his stomach and reaching upward toward the woman at the desk. "_MOIRA SING WITH ME! WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU-OOH-OH!_" _  
_

When the chorus ended, Moira attempted to go back to her paperwork. But there was the damn bouncing ball again. _Bounce_,_ pap. Bounce, pap. _Peter was splayed on the floor, his legs spread wide and his head resting awkwardly on the side of Moira's desk, silver hair in a mess around his shoulders. _Bounce, pap_. _Bounce, pap._

Moira slammed her hands down on her desk, startling the young man laying on the floor near her desk. His phone was resting haphazardly on top of his head, falling off when he jumped, the speakers still blasting at full volume and generally disturbing the peace in the vicinity. And he was bouncing that goddamned rubber ball against the wall. "Can't you find something better to do, Maximoff?" she demanded irritably.

Peter glanced up at her, stared for a moment, and then threw the ball as hard as he could at the dull green wall, and, instead of catching it as he usually did, he let it bounce off the floor and hit Moira square in the face.

"Peter honestly!" she snapped, chucking the ball at his head childishly. However, the young man somehow managed to dodge the thing despite how fast it was going. He grinned like the little kid he truly was, and, as soon as the dark haired woman had gone back to her paperwork, he produced another rubber ball from a pocket on his belt. He began the routine again.

Moira glared. "Peter you only have to wait a little longer! You've been playing that song for _way too long_! And you can't sing!" she shouted in aggravation. "Charles called from the airport twenty minutes ago and said he'd be here soon. So just... try to be a little patient," she continued, taking a deep breath through her nose to calm herself as she smoothed the front of her suit jacket.

The silver haired man grumbled something about how 'he never should've joined the FBI, it's just full of boring people', but stopped bouncing the ball nonetheless. Moira sighed in content, and flipped the page of the file she was going over for Charles, highlighting the really important bits. Because God knows the man can't review files for his life.

"When do we get to start working on the case?" Peter complained suddenly, closing his eyes and mouthing the words to the song he'd been listening to for the last hour. "I am literally dying of boredom."

Moira looked at him with a humorous smile and a raised eyebrow. "You _literally_," she said, emphasizing the word mockingly, "need to be a bit more patient. The rest of the team Shaw assembled is getting here this afternoon, and they're being briefed on the plane. You'll get to start as soon as they show up," she informed him, ruffling his hair playfully. "If you're _really_ so bored, you can go talk to Hank. He's gonna be working on this case too."

Peter's dark eyes lit up and he turned so he was facing her, on his knees, head resting on her desk. "Hank? Who's Hank?" he questioned eagerly, seemingly fascinated with the mystery man. Moira couldn't help but laugh at her young friend's excitement.

"He's a forensic criminologist from New Jersy. The best of the best, they say. You two'll be seeing quite a bit of each other," she responded, pulling a face and resting her chin on her hand. "He's... _interesting_. Very passionate about science."

Peter frowned sarcastically, sliding down the side of the desk. "_EW_. Science is _boring_," he shouted as he lay spread eagle on the floor. This turned several heads from other desks, looking up from the general work area into Moira's small office, most still aggravated by the music that had just begun it's twentieth repeat.

With a smile, Moira closed the folder she had on her desk, pushing Peter's head with the toe of her high heeled shoe. He slid himself dramatically away from her as though the tiny shove had a huge effect on him. Moira chuckled to herself. "If it's any consolation, he's in the CIA."

"Nice," the young man commented, opening his phone and starting a game. "That's pretty cool. Doesn't make up for the science, but whatever. Who's the hippie?" he asked, pointing upward to a man who was standing in Moira's doorway. The woman looked up, only to see a familiar face leaning against her open doorway. He had a scruffy beard and longer hair, but it was definitely him.

"Charles," she breathed in disbelief, sitting in her chair, frozen. The man nodded, swapping his duffel bag over to the other hand.

"That's me. Now turn off the bloody music, Moira, it's not becoming," he spoke in a British voice. When the dark haired woman had snapped out of her daze, she glared at Peter, who switched his music off. Moira smiled as warmly as she could and stood to give her ex-partner a hug. Charles pulled a face and attempted to duck out of her grasp, but she had wrapped her arms around him before he had a chance.

"It's good to see you again, Charles," she whispered quietly into his shoulder. There was something intimate about the way she said it, and it made him tense up.

Charles sneered and patted her curtly on the back with the hand that wasn't dragging along his duffel bag. "Wish I could say the same, McTaggert," he responded coldly, and he was released from the grey-clothed woman's hug immediately.

Moira smoothed out the front of her skirt and blazer as she stepped away from the man in the dark sweater, her expression undeniably hurt. However, she covered it with a smile, and gestured to Peter, who had raised himself into a standing position, his smile even more false then Moira's. Charles took in his rumpled black dress shirt and grey trousers that were just a little too short on him, and decided, just from one look, that he did _not_ like this kid.

"Uh, Charles," Moira started, shoving her young friend forward. "I'd like you to meet Peter Maximoff. Peter, this is Charles Xavier. You guys are... uh... partners now, I guess. Thought it might be good for you to actually meet properly."

Charles took up Peter's hand forcefully, and they stared into each other's eyes for far longer then was necessary. "Maximoff, huh?" Charles stated as he raised his eyebrow, not dropping the other's hand nor breaking eye contact. "Sounds familiar."

"I have a sister named Wendy," he shot back, continuing to shake the other's hand menacingly. "She's been arrested a few times." They were being so standoffish it was making everyone uncomfortable, especially Moira. "I heard you used to be a druggie," Peter continued, still keeping his eyes locked on Charles'.

"Peter!" Moira exclaimed defensively, slightly embarrassed that he would say that to Charles, whom he'd only just met. However, Charles looked completely unfazed. He just continued staring, stone faced.

"I don't think that's any of your business," he sneered coldly, even chillier a tone then when he speaks to Moira. Peter's face shifted slightly, as though he were shrugging in an expression.

"I honestly think it is. We'll be working together for a while, won't we?" he asked in a continued even tone. "Have you ever killed anyone?" The question was a dare, testing the older's patience.

Charles, without missing a beat, snapped back, "Not yet, but I'm definitely considering it right now."

Moira physically stepped between the two, realizing that they could've held an entire conversation without dropping hands or breaking eye contact. "Okay!" she announced loudly, smiling as she looked back and forth between the two glaring men. "Who'd like to discuss this over coffee?"


	3. Chapter 3

The coffee shop Peter had recommended was a good ten minute walk away from the headquarters, but it was small and uncrowded enough that nobody would overhear what they were talking about. Moira had been there before; she and Logan from the Behavioral Analysis Unit sometimes met up to have coffee and chat.

Today they were sitting in a corner away from the windows, in view of the doorway. The table was small, but they managed to squeeze around it. Peter had brought them all coffee (Charles grumbled the entire time about why tea was better) and Moira had set up the file to show what she knew about the case.

"The guys at the 12th Precinct-" she began, before Peter cut her off with an unwanted grin.

"Yo I know a guy from there!" he exclaimed, and Moira glared. "Sorry, continue."

"As I was _saying_," she went on, giving Peter a harsh look, "the people at the 12th thought this was just a normal serial killer case for a while, and that's why they didn't call it to our attention before," she explained with some hand gestures, "_Then_, somebody pointed out that this case was incredibly similar to a cold case from ten years ago. Charles, I think you know what I'm talking about."

"The metal man case," Charles muttered quietly, rubbing his hand over his unshaven face. Moira nodded, and Peter rocked backwards on his chair, taking a sip of his coffee.

"They named him 'Magneto'," he commented with an informative nod of the head. Charles ignored it and continued speaking to his ex-partner.

"Moira, if this is really the metal man, or... Magneto or whatever you're calling him, we need to have a public alert out. People need to lock themselves in their homes, they need to stay off the streets! That's your job, isn't it?" he exclaimed, his grip tightening around his coffee.

Moira shook her head rapidly, waving her hand about to silence him. "No, Charles. We can't have the public freaking out like that. We've tried hard enough to keep this out of the media so the met- _Magneto_ doesn't know we're onto him. You should know this, Charles! A media outcry is the _last_ thing we need!" she spoke to him in a low voice, trying not to draw attention from the few scattered civilians around them.

"So this _Magneto_ person," Peter began, finally deciding to actually add something useful to the conversation. "What they apparently saw back at the 12th is that he's pulling some funky metal bending shit, fucking stuff up, and killing people. This is a problem, _clearly_. But there's no way to find out who this guy is, because the victimology is _all over_ the place, and he doesn't leave any DNA at the crime scenes. You know this, obviously. It's the exact same MO from ten years ago. I'm just wondering how they're expecting us to catch him."

Moira nodded, glancing at Charles, who appeared to be giving the side of Peter's head the death glare for an unknown reason. "Well, you're a good detective, Peter. I'm sure that between you and Charles this case'll be up in boxes pretty soon," she told them both, smiling awkwardly. Though she didn't seem entirely convinced herself.

"Is there a determined motive yet?" Charles asked through his hand, which was resting on his chin and muffling his voice slightly. Moira shook her head and Peter made a popping noise with his mouth.

"Nope, zip. Not from what _I've_ heard at least," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. The dark haired woman next to him sighed in aggravation, closing the file and shoving it to the middle of the table.

"It's ridiculous, really. The agents back in '04 couldn't figure out what was up with this guy and neither can we. I just don't understand how someone can hide that well," she ranted, running a hand through her hair. Moira looked as though she was about to start up on some other complaint about the case, when her phone made a chiming noise. She glanced down at it, and her eyes went wide. "Shit," she cursed, downing the remainder of her coffee and tossing it in the direction of the bin. "I just remembered I have a meeting with the rest of PR. I've gotta go. Alex is probably waiting and _pissed_."

And with that, Moira had dashed out of the coffee shop they had been sitting in, leaving nothing but an empty coffee cup on the floor by the garbage can to prove she was ever there.

Charles took a long sip of his coffee and pulled down the bottom of his blue sweater. Peter had picked up the file and was reading over it intensely, his eyes scanning each page quickly before he'd flip it over. Charles sighed, picking at the bed of his nails.

"I don't know what you're doing going what's obviously useless infor-" Until he was cut off, Charles didn't even know if the young man could even hear him.

"I'm looking for connections between the victims so I can understand Magneto better," he informed the other detective curtly, flipping the page again. Charles laughed bitterly, sipping his coffee with a mocking shake of his head.

"My friend, I'm sure if there were any connections, the other detectives would've found them already," he told Peter with disdain in his voice. "And even if they did miss something I don't think an amateur like you would be able to find it."

Charles would admit that last part was childish, but he couldn't stop it from coming out of his mouth. Anyway, Peter didn't even seem to hear it, or if he did he ignored it, instead reviewing the already well perused papers that were in his hands. Charles sighed and adjusted the way he was sitting.

His back hurt worse then it usually did. And the plane ride hadn't exactly done anything to help it. However, having extreme surgery on your spine was better then being paralyzed from the waist down forever.

_"FBI, put your hands in the air!" Charles shouted, running forward with his gun drawn. The man turned around with a determined look on his face. His hair was tousled and his features were set, his hand outstretched toward Charles, who was alone in the garden for now._

_"Charles don't do this," he ordered, making the detective stiffen. "We can make it out of here. We can be together. We're so close." Charles faltered, his gun drooping and his face softening. "Please, Charles. I love you."_

_His heart seemed to drop into his stomach, and his head was racing. Footsteps sounded from behind him, along with several people screaming 'Police' and 'FBI'. "Charles don't listen to him!" a voice shouted from somewhere toward the back of him. Reinforcements had arrived. "Charles he's using you, don't listen to him!" It was Moira. _

_Charles had left his guard down for too long. The man looked away as if to run. __Moira threatened to shoot. The man ran anyway. Charles, regaining his thought process, ran after him. A shot rang out from a gun._

He was startled out of his thoughts when Peter suddenly shouted, "Aha!" causing several people to turn their heads to see what the commotion at the far table was. Charles, once his heart had stopped pounding from the surprise, looked at the young man with disbelief etched on his stubbly face.

"Don't tell me you've found something," he groaned, hoping Peter hadn't found anything for the sake of Charles' own ego. Peter grinned at him broadly and nodded, spinning the file around so it was facing Charles.

"I did, actually," he responded, his pale hands spreading out several papers over the small café table. "See, while I was going over the statements from the victims friends and family, I noticed the pattern that all the victims were seen with a 'suspicious looking person' the day they were killed."

Charles clicked his tongue and shook his head. "That's good, I'll give you credit for noticing that, but it's not a solid connection," he remarked, sitting back with a smug look resting on his face. Peter shot him an aggravated glare.

"I'm not _finished_," he snapped, before turning several pages over and laying out the sketches from the sketch artist. "These are the quote-unquote 'suspicious people' the victims were seen with the day they were killed. Height and weight stuff are on the back."

Once again interrupting, Charles shook his head. "These are all completely different people, my friend. That's not a connection."

Peter held up a hand. "Still not finished," he sang, his eyes closed. "See, that's what I thought when I looked at them too. But _then_," he grinned, "I looked closer. All the faces look different, but they're all generally the same. See the eyes. Round, long lashes. And the people are all in the height range of 5'5 and 5'9. All wearing fairly nondescript clothes and usually hats. Hair was generally longer, and it looks unnaturally thick around the hairline."

The young agent wasn't really making much sense at this point, so Charles cut him off once again. "What are you suggesting, Peter? Because you've completely lost me," he sneered, tired of speaking with the silver haired boy.

"It's all the same person," Peter stated. Charles' brain went blank for several seconds, and he blinked at Peter slowly. Then his mind went into overdrive, and he began looking through the sketches and descriptions over and over, his mouth falling slowly agape.

"Oh my lord," he muttered, eyes wide as he flipped back and forth between several pictures. Charles fell back in his seat, rubbing his forehead in a trance. "Peter that's amazing." The younger detective looked a bit smug, but then his face fell. Charles nearly asked him what was wrong, but then he made the same realization.

"But what does this person really look like?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Orange is the New Black was _beyond_ my inspiration for the first part**

_"Ooh, I like this song," Charles said as the black radio switched to the next song. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his wavy dark hair, intentionally edging his silky black robe off his pale shoulder. He was resting his elbows on the low mahogany vanity, his back to the man on the canopy bed behind him._

_"If you like piña coladas..." the speakers played quietly. Charles glanced over his shoulder, turning ever so slightly, only to see the intended target of his seduction reading a book. He sighed, standing up and leaning against the dark pole that held up the orange canopy above the bed. "C'mon baby, you're so boring," he whined, smirking slightly. "Can't you read some other time?"_

_The man looked up from his book, an eyebrow raised at Charles and his obvious pining. "Dear, I'm a tad busy right now," he told the younger man, licking his lips. "And you should be too, if I'm not mistaken."_

_Charles rolled his eyes in an over dramatic manner, and climbed up on the bed, on all fours. He spread himself out on his stomach, letting his robe slide partially off his body. "It's just paperwork. I can get Moira to take care of it if I ask her right," he told the man next to him, who still had his book resting in his lap. "Come on, baby! Take a little break. I'm sure your book isn't as interesting as me."_

_The fair haired man smiled at him, an eyebrow raised. "Charles," he chided, and the young detective groaned. "You know I have a big week coming up, what with the transfer and everything. This is the only free time I have, and I'd quite like to finish this book."_

_Charles flopped around until he was comfortable again and rolled his eyes heavily at the man on the bed. "Darling!" he exclaimed, letting his hand fall to rest on the man's thigh. "Please! Free time before you move and you're spending it finishing a dreadful book you could read on the plane? It can_ _not possibly be more fascinating then I am!" He was teasing, but his partner shrugged nonetheless. _

_"No_,_ you're right. It's not," he agreed, slipping his bookmark in and putting the thick book down on the night table. Charles smirked, having gotten his way, and rolled up onto his hands and knees, crawling on top of the other man. Their lips met forcefully, and Charles braced his hands on either side of the man's head. _

_He kissed down his partner's neck and across his collarbone, laying his lower half down on top of him and feeling the other's hand entangled in his hair. Charles pulled away for a moment to look down into his partner's eyes. "What am I going to do without you?" he asked. _

_The man sat up suddenly, causing Charles to fall backwards. "You could always be my accomplice," he suggested. Charles laughed in surprise, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Ditch town with me, come to Amsterdam. That's my next stop. You keep talking about wanting to see Amsterdam, why don't you come with me?"_

_Charles shook his head again, sitting back. "No, no. I'm afraid I can't. Quitting my job so suddenly-"_

_"I'm sure they can find another detective to take your spot. Charles, darling, I know being in the FBI is exciting and all, but wouldn't it be fun to go with me?" he asked, sitting up and taking the dark haired man's face in his hands. "My love... isn't this what you want?"_

"You're from England though, right? I mean you've got the accent," Peter's obnoxious voice interrupted Charles' memory with a snap, and the man had to shake his head to even realize he was walking down the street back toward the headquarters. "Hello? You in there?"_  
_

"Yes, sorry, got a bit distracted," Charles sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No, no. I'm not from England. I'm from New York. And I'm not quite interested in this Q and A you seem to have set up for me." Peter ignored the last bit and nodded.

"New York? I've been to New York once. Didn't like it. I'm a native of DC if you were interested," he told Charles with a sideways smile, seeming to glance over for approval.

_No you're not_, the older man thought to himself upon hearing Peter's statement. _Your accent suggests English isn't your native language, but you don't speak anything but English outside your home._

"That's nice, and no. I'm not interested," the profiler told him aloud, pushing aside the profile he'd accidentally began to build. Peter hesitated for a moment, then laughed, spinning around to walk backwards in front of him.

"So you were a profiler? What division did you work in? It was the BAU, wasn't it? I work with the BAU a lot. I'm a technical analyst. Did they have technical analysts when you were here?" the silver haired man questioned, continuing to smile like some juvenile delinquent. Charles gave a deep sigh of malcontent and rubbed his eyes for the third time in what seemed like hours. "And didn't you get shot? I've never gotten shot before. What was that like?"

"Peter I don't know if you realize this, but I literally do not give two shakes of a rat's ass about anything you're saying," the stubble-chinned man informed him with a tight, closed-mouth smile that didn't reach his eyes. Peter chuckled at him and pointed a finger in his face.

"See, you put on this 'tough guy no shits given' act, but I think we both know," he told Charles, pointing at his face with a slight smirk, "That what you really are is a grumpy old fart who's bitter about losing his job."

Charles felt rage bubble up in him, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to keep himself from saying something he'd regret. But his head was so hot with anger at the boy's statement that the words just spilled out and he couldn't do anything about it. _Don't think about the profile, don't think about the profile._

"And you, my obnoxious young friend, are simply pining for the attention of the adult figures around you to fill the gap of your absent father and abusive mother," he snapped with a glare. _I thought about the profile. _Peter froze beside him, and Charles cringed. His profiling skills were both a blessing and a curse, as he could never seem to hold his tongue.

He risked a glance at his new partner's face, and his heart filled with dread. For a moment, Peter looked like a vulnerable child who was about to break down in tears. However, the next instant, he'd snapped back into his jovial smile, punching Charles playfully in the arm. "Maybe, but at least I don't look like a sad trash baby," he retorted in a cheerful voice.

Charles felt bad. He'd made a mistake by saying that. But he didn't have much time to dwell on it, because his cell phone rang from his pocket the next second. He fumbled with it for a moment, then answered. Moira's voice rang from the speaker. "Charles!" she shouted, "Get back here now! The 12th just called us in with another one and we're driving to the scene in five! We have SUV's out front, just try and hurry."

"Copy that!" Charles responded, hanging up and turning to Peter. "How's your running?" he asked. A devious grin flashed over the younger man's face.

"A challenge, grandpa?" he asked tauntingly, pushing up his sleeves with a devilish grin. Charles raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose it could be," he shrugged, before dashing off in the direction of the headquarters. He laughed when he heard several confused shouts from behind him, but he was soon shocked to see that the young man had caught up with him. "Oh... fuck... off!" he panted, and Peter shot him a grin, pulling ahead of Charles like an overly caffeinated gazelle.

They came to a screeching halt outside the headquarters, where the SUVs were waiting to pick them up, and Charles laughed in an out-of-breath manner, collapsing in the dark vehicle seat and rubbing a hand over his forehead. Peter climbed in next to him, and Charles patted him on the shoulder. "You are _ridiculously_ fast, my friend," he breathed out heavily.

"Yeah dude, I saw you two running. Were you on a fucking track team or something?" asked a female voice from the seat in front of Charles. The dark SUV pulled forward out of the parking lot, fast. Charles, after being wrenched forward by the reckless driving, looked up and saw a young woman with long dark hair in the passenger's seat.

"I'm Agent Salvadore from the morgue. I'm filling in for Hank. I'm not really on this case," she introduced herself with a smile, shaking Charles' hand. "You're Charles Xavier, right? Man we studied the _hell_ out've your case back at the academy. That shit was fucked up!" Salvadore exclaimed, looking far too amused.

"Yes," Charles stated in an irked voice, still not having entirely caught his breath yet, "Yes it was." Peter coughed several times from his window seat, and Charles looked over at him, brow furrowing. "You alright?" he asked the younger man. Peter nodded, his left hand resting on his chest and his right pressed against his temple.

"I'm fine, yeah," he told Charles, taking a deep breath. His face was strained for a moment, and he seemed to be biting the inside of his mouth. However, a second later he sat up straighter and smiled at Salvadore. "Hi, sorry. I'm Peter Maximoff. You're Angel Salvadore, right?" he asked as he shook her hand. Angel gave him a grin.

"Yeah! I think we worked a case together last year," she told him, cocking her head slightly. Peter stared at her for a moment, before he clapped his hands and grinned at her.

"The serial killer with the... the-" he snapped his fingers several times, as if trying to recall information.

"The weird ass blow torches-" Angel chimed in, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Yeah! And the thingy-" Peter continued, balling his hand into a fist and miming firing a weapon.

"What did we call him?"

"Oh God, I can remember this I swear! John something, John Allerdyce! What were we calling him?" he shouted, banging his fists against his temples. Angel made a long strained noise, before both of them jumped with a loud shout of,

"_PYRO!_"

Charles was startled by their sudden outburst, and made a face of disgust at the two younger, _smiling_ agents. "Oh man that was a good case," Peter grinned, falling back in his seat and rubbing his hand over his chest again. Angel pointed a finger at him again and cocked her head to the side.

"Hey, Wendy Maximoff was your sister, right?" she asked, pointing a finger of recognition at him. Peter nodded with a smile, and Angel's grin broadened. "Man I'm surprised I never made that connection before! She always talked about her 'super cool twin brother', but she never actually introduced me. We dated, by the way."

Peter smiled at her, pulling his hair into a ponytail. "Yeah, I know. She talked about you all the time," he informed her, and Angel turned beet red.

"Sucks she had to move," she squeaked, trying to suppress a gleeful smile.

Peter shrugged and bobbed his head up and down. "Yeah, well, a modeling job is a modeling job, nothing we can really do about it," he commented, and Angel nodded in agreement. "How's the uh..." he gestured to his back with his pointer finger, and the dark haired agent laughed.

"My back? Oh it's fine. I had some surgeries that left some pretty weird scars, but I got tattoos over them. I could show you later if you want!" she exclaimed, smiling widely. Peter nodded vehemently and Charles sighed, wiggling around on his seat uncomfortably.

"Would everybody _shut up_ back there?" demanded a deep, gruff voice from the driver's seat. "I'm tryn'a drive here and you idiots ain't makin' it any easier."

"Hey Logan," Peter grinned excitedly, waving his hand, and the burly man _Logan_ grunted in response. "How'd the Florida case go? I haven't seen you in like, a month!"

Logan pulled a cigar out of his mouth and glanced over his shoulder, glaring at Peter through his sunglasses. "And you're just as annoying as ever, kid," he commented, and though he sounded grouchy, his words seeped with fatherly affection. Peter smiled warmly, sitting back in his seat and twiddling his fingers. "Who's the hippie?" Logan asked, pointing his cigar in the direction of Charles.

The profiler glowered at him, his mouth turning down into a grumpy frown. Peter laughed. "That's Charles Xavier, you probably heard about him in the case file. He's the lead on this case," the silver haired man lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "He's kind of crazy."

"Do you always feel the need to add unwanted commentary?!" Charles asked, glaring harshly at the young man. Logan whipped his head around to look at the profiler, barring his teeth, with his cigar sticking out the side of his mouth.

"Nobody asked you, bub, now shut the hell up!" he growled angrily, turning huffily to continue driving. Charles was taken aback by the outburst, and sat quietly in his seat, biting his lower lip. Logan glanced back at Peter, who was sitting there awkwardly. "How's Wendy?" he asked, and Peter's face lit up.

"She's great!" he exclaimed in an excited voice, "You know how she was a model, right? Well she got to move to Amsterdam to..."

_"Charles, love, you don't look that bad," the fair haired man smiled, taking the young profiler's face in his hands. "In fact," he continued, leaning in so their foreheads touched, "you look absolutely ravishing."_

_"I look ridiculous and you know it," Charles complained, pulling at the buttons of the blue polo shirt he wore. "Nobody wears polos, they look stupid." His lover turned his head up so they were looking into each other's eyes._

_"Missionary groups do, so we do. Besides, I got those X's for our shirts after your name. You should feel honored, Charles. You're on a polo shirt decal," the man laughed, and Charles laughed with him, letting his head fall against the taller man's shoulder. Arms wrapped around him and he stared off into space. "I know you're nervous, love."_

_"What if we get caught?" Charles asked, biting his lower lip. His lover pressed a kiss into the top of his head and chuckled. "I'm serious. What if we don't make it through airport security?"_

_"We'll be fine, dear. We made it through the first round of security. Who says we can't make it through the next?" the fair haired man smiled softly, pulling Charles away to look him in the eyes. "We're almost there, Charles."_

"Do ya need hearing aids, bub? I said we're there," Logan growled, and Charles realized the car had stopped. _Right. We're there._ He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, climbing awkwardly out of the SUV into the bright sunlight of the afternoon.

He and Peter walked through the many police officers toward the dead woman on the ground. Charles was taking in the crime scene as he walked; a fairly nondescript area, near some abandoned construction sites. It looks like a dump of opportunity. For a moment, he wondered why they thought this was another metal man killing.

But then he saw it: the large metal scaffolding that had been on the side of a half-constructed building was bent down off the side of the building, one of the four large poles impaled in a young woman's stomach.


	5. Chapter 5

"Her name was Emma Frost, age twenty nine. Betcha can't guess how she died," explained one of the police officers who was crouched beside the body. Peter stared up in awe at the massive structure that was bent down and into the white-clad woman. 'Emma Frost' was an attractive girl, with large blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her skin was pale, though it may have been tanner before she was killed.

Charles crouched down next to the police officer, his face set in a passive expression. "Hello, Raven. I was unaware they let you back on the force," he commented coldly, inspecting the body.

"I could say the same to you, Charles. But I guess they didn't _really_ let you back on the force, did they?" she shot back in a calm tone.

"Shit, I'm sensing some rivalry. Do you two know each other?" Peter asked, he too crouched by the body. Charles kept his gaze away from the woman beside him, and inspected Emma Frost's impaled midsection.

"Yes, we do. Now shall we get on with this?" Charles grumbled, and he saw Raven standing up and swaggering away to go speak with another officer. The man sighed, snapping at the latex gloves they had been given, and he tried to block out the barrage of memories that were assaulting him. "Look at this," he commented, pointing at the large pole that was nearly as wide around as she. "There's too little blood. This had to've been done post-mortem. So this _isn't_ how she died."

"And what's this?" Peter exclaimed in a quieter voice, raising one silvery eyebrow. Charles leaned toward the younger man, who gingerly picked up Emma Frost's slim wrist. "Something is _missing_," he sang with a slight smirk.

It was true; there was an indent mark on her finger, as if someone had taken a ring off it. Along with that, there were several square shaped indents on her wrist, a tell-tale sign of a bracelet having been stolen.

Charles rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. "That's strange. The metal man hasn't ever taken anything off the victim before," he muttered, his brow furrowing. Peter nodded, turning her wrist over to inspect it further.

"Which suggests a personal connection to this one," he finished the thought for Charles, who bit his lip. "Once she's in been autopsied we'll have to see if there was any sexual assault. Your friend, Raven, she was from the 12th?"

Charles nodded. "I'm gonna go talk to her. Be right back," Peter informed him, standing up and tossing his hair out of his eyes. Charles gave him no mind and continued to look over Emma Frost's body. It was very out of character for Magneto to take something off his victim; he'd never done it with his past kills. _A big change in MO,_ Charles thought to himself, pulling a notebook out of his back pocket and jotting down his findings._  
_

"Hey! Miss!" Charles heard Peter calling after someone. He looked up and saw his young partner running toward Raven, who was in full cop uniform. Her blonde hair had been dyed red and cut short, pinned back under her black hat. Her round face seemed slimmer, and peeking out from underneath the collar of her black uniform shirt was an assorted variety of blue tattoos of which Charles was not familiar. He sighed and stood up, scratching the back of his neck.

It had been a long time.

_"C'mon grandpa! It's just one beer! Don't be such a prude!" Raven laughed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as she pushed the large glass into Charles' hand. "Drink! Drink! Drink!" she chanted, elbowing two of their college friends playfully. The others began chanting as well, and eventually Charles gave up and caved in, downing the beer regretfully. _

_There was cheering, and Raven's laughter seemed to drown out the rest of the noise from the bar. Her round face glowed in the dim lighting, her golden eyes reflecting the light with serene beauty. Charles smiled back at her, and in that moment everything seemed to disappear. He'd never realized how much he would miss her presence when she moved out of their family's mansion__._

_"I'm gonna be a voice actress," she grinned at Amy, one of the other girls in their group. "Or like... a makeup artist! I've heard from my class that I'm very good." Charles put an arm around her shoulders, smiling at her._

_"Well if that fails, Raven, don't forget you can still come and live with me," he joked, though he knew his adoptive sister was too skilled not to somehow score a job in her desired field. Raven threw her head back, laughing. _

_"You mean with your mom? No thanks, home boy, I'd rather survive on my own," she giggled at him, tapping his nose with her finger and taking another drink._

"Okay, cool! Thanks so much, ma'am!" Peter exclaimed in his booming voice as he shook Raven's hand enthusiastically. Raven gave him a curt smile and walked away, toward some other police officers. Charles stood and approached Peter, the flashes of the crime scene photographer's camera making his eyes hurt.

"Peter, what did you just ask her?" he demanded as he came to a halt beside his young partner, who was pulling his hair back into a tighter ponytail.

"Oh, I just wanted to know if I could try on her hat to take a selfie for Instagram," he grinned, showing Charles a photo of himself and Raven making ridiculous faces. The profiler sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "How do you two know each other?"

"It was a long time ago, and we were children."

"Alright, let's roll out!" Angel shouted as she slid into the front seat of their SUV. Charles looked at his watch, confused, as he walked toward her still open door.

"Already? It's only been five minutes!" he exclaimed, and Angel raised one eyebrow.

"I dunno where you've been, dude, but we've been here almost a half an hour. Get in, we're leaving," she stated with a slight polite smile. Charles furrowed his brow a bit, but climbed into the SUV nonetheless. Peter dashed over and held the door open a bit. "C'mon kiddo get in the car!" Angel called over her shoulder as Logan put the keys in the ignition.

"Actually I'm getting a ride with somebody else. I should be back at headquarters a little bit after you guys," he informed them with a grin. Angel shrugged, and Logan stuck his arm out the window to ruffle Peter's hair.

"Take care of yerself kid. I'll see ya back at HQ," the burly man smiled slightly, lighting up another cigar and sticking it in his mouth. Peter waved goodbye and slammed the door, watching as the SUV drove away.

When it was out of his sight, he turned around. "Thanks so much by the way, Detective Darkholme," he muttered to the tattooed police officer. She gave him a slight nod as they both walked away from the crime scene and toward the 12th Precinct.

"Please, Raven. And it's no problem, kid. The Precinct's just up the way. Short walk. My car's there, I could give you a ride back to your headquarters if you want," she told him, tossing her coffee into a nearby garbage can. Peter shook his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

"I'm fine. I can just walk back, or maybe call Logan for a ride. It's not too far."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, thanks though," he responded with a smile. There was silence for a bit as the two continued walking toward the Precinct, until Peter finally worked up the courage to ask her the question that had been plaguing his mind for the past half an hour. "How do you know Charles?" he blurted, and Raven raised a reddish eyebrow at him.

"Is that really your business?" she chuckled, and Peter shrugged, putting his head down and staring at the sidewalk.

"I dunno, I was just curious," Peter muttered, embarrassed. Raven punched him in the shoulder, smiling slightly.

"It's fine. I just don't really like to talk about it," she informed him, sighing. The silence returned for a moment, before Raven took off her hat and put it under her arm, running a hand through her short red hair. "We were... friends a while back. Charles had a bit of a big brother complex over me, and I had a little crush on him. You can imagine that didn't work out."

"Yeah no, that wouldn't really work out," Peter agreed, scratching the back of his neck. "And... uh, what did he mean by 'finagling with that drug dealer'?" Raven looked up at him with steely eyes.

"I'd prefer we didn't go there," she snapped, and Peter silenced himself immediately. They walked in an awkward quietness until they were climbing the stairs of the 12th Precinct, when Raven gave him a slight smile. "You know I'm glad the FBI's keeping us up to date with this case. They don't usually do that. So uh, if you could thank whoever's idea that was, I'd appreciate it."

Peter nodded, and they came to a stop outside an old wooden door. "Alright, this is it. What file did you want?" the red haired woman asked as she unlocked the door. Peter bounced on his feet.

"Um, the uh, 1994 murder of a family of Romanian immigrants? I can't remember their name but it happened some time in May. It was unsolved, probably doesn't even _have_ a file anymore," he chuckled, and Raven nodded, walking into the room with the young FBI agent.

"Everything's got a file, kid. You people at the FBI keep everything on a computer, don't you?" she said as she searched through the dusty old records in the back of the room. "May 1994, you said? May 1994, May 1994..." she muttered as she ran her blue tattooed finger along several different boxes in the massive room. After a while, Peter had come to the conclusion that they weren't going to find it, and he was going to leave empty handed. "Aha!" she exclaimed suddenly, causing Peter to jump.

"You found it?" he asked excitedly. Raven smiled, pulling several old dusty manilla folders out of a large box.

"Yep!" she grinned, flipping through the folders. "Shit, kid, this is some grisly stuff!" Raven observed, her eyebrows raised. "But whatever. I guess I can't judge. Good luck with this, it's pretty old."

She handed over the file, and Peter thanked her profusely as they walked out. She smiled and patted him on the back, bidding him farewell as he left the Precinct. When the door was closed, Peter plunked down on a park bench, rubbing his chest uncomfortably.

He closed his eyes and sat still for several minutes, trying with all his might to ignore the throbbing pain emitting from his heart, but he eventually gave up and fished an orange pill bottle out of his coat pocket. He twisted the white lid off with shaking hands as quickly as he could, tossing two of the pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry.

Peter took several deep breaths, his hand clenched around the pill bottle, before he opened his eyes and put it back in his pocket. He held his hands out in front of him, palms facing the ground; they weren't shaking anymore. Peter sighed, nodding to himself and opening the folder.

This was undoubtedly the right file, he decided as he read the official statement on the first yellowing page of the file.

_Romanian immigrant Magda Maximoff murdered in her home_

_Twin children Wanda and Pietro Maximoff kidnapped; never found_


	6. Chapter 6

"Well I'm _so_ terribly sorry for inconveniencing you, Moira," snarked Charles' voice from the phone, and the dark haired woman sighed, ending the call and shoving the cell phone back in her pocket. She tossed her hair out of her eyes and looked up with a thin, exasperated smile.

"I'm so sorry about that, sir. That was Charles, I thought he might have something important for the case we're on now," Moira informed the man seated across the mahogany desk from her. When she was met with silence, she awkwardly squirmed and tried to go on, "He was just looking for someone to complain to, um... we've known each other for a long time, and uh- I guess he just wanted to- um- to-"

"It's perfectly alright, Agent MacTaggert, or... can I call you Moira?" asked Shaw, giving her an all-too pleasant smile. Moira nodded, her hazel eyes wide. "Well then, _Moira._ I'm sure you know why I called you in here," he asked, raising an eyebrow. The woman nodded again, then paused, bit her lip, and shook her head. "Well," he continued, leaning forward on his desk, his hands clasped in front of him. "Allow me to enlighten you."

Moira held her breath as Shaw began to speak, biting the inside of her mouth. "As I'm sure you're aware, the FBI has been having some... how to put it? _Issues_ with a few of it's agents recently. We've been making _cut_ after _cut_ after _cut_, and we just don't have anybody qualified to take their places!" Shaw sighed, shrugging over dramatically. "And the _only_ person who _doesn't_," he annunciated the T so loudly Moira jumped, "seem to be causing _trouble_ for us..."

The pause was long, and after a moment of horrifying eye contact, Shaw opened a small box on his desk, pushing it toward Moira. "Chocolate?" he offered, and the woman hesitantly nodded, reaching forward and taking some of the candy. Shaw smiled, closing the box and returning it to it's place on the desk. He folded his hands and waited as Moira chewed on the chocolate, not speaking until she had swallowed.

"As I was saying... the only person who doesn't seem to have been causing trouble is _you,_" Shaw informed her, and Moira wanted to feel relieved. But the tone in her boss' voice was less then comforting. He moved to speak again, and the female agent jumped.

"I'm so sorry for whatever you think I did sir but I promise I didn't do anything this job is my life please _please_ don't fire me I swear to God I'll do better if you just give me a cha-" she rambled in a high pitched voice. Shaw held up a hand to stop her, chuckling to himself.

"Moira, Moira. Please sit down, you never let me finish!" he laughed, and the woman sat back down in the chair, not having even realized she'd stood up in the first place. Shaw took off his wire glasses and wiped his eyes, still laughing to himself. "No, no, dear girl. I'm not going to fire you. What I was saying is that, I haven't told anyone yet, but I've recently sacked Janos Quested, the director of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, which I _know_ you are _very_ well acquainted with, given your current status as their media overseer. Am I correct?"

Moira nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I do work very closely with the BAU," she confirmed in a nervous voice.

"Well then, I was correct in assuming you'd be perfect for this position," Shaw smiled, placing his glasses back on his nose. Moira blanched. _This position? I'm being promoted? Is this a joke? Oh shit, is Charles still going to be allowed to stay on the case if I'm not part of it anymore? What's Logan gonna say? What am I supposed to do as the director? Holy shit this isn't happening_...

"Sir?" she asked aloud, trying to gather all her questions into one monster question. Shaw smiled at her again, handing over a large stack of papers, all with the FBI insignia stamped on the top left hand corner.

"Moira, you're being promoted," he told her cheerfully, "Give yourself a pat on the back. Throw a party. You start work tomorrow."

Moira took the paperwork from him awkwardly, but remained seated. Shaw gave her a questioning look, and she bit her lip. "Sir, does this mean I'm no longer on the metal man case?" she asked in a worried tone. Shaw tilted his head. "The, uh... the case I'm on right now. Am I not allowed to keep working on it?"

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I didn't realize you were currently _on_ a case," he told her in a quieter voice. "Well, I'm sorry, dear, but you're going to have to hand off this case to the rest of whoever's working on it. It _is_ a multiple detective case, correct?" Moira nodded, and Shaw smiled clapping his hands together. "Then you should have no problem leaving it! Have a lovely da-"

"But sir!" Moira exclaimed, "Sir I'm sorry, but I have a personal connection to this case. _I_ was one of the original three agents who worked on it. _I_ was part of this and _I_ want to see it through to the end, _please_ sir!"

"I'm sorry, Moira," Shaw said, "But I'm afraid I can't let you do that. _Especially_ if you have a personal connection to the case. Have a nice day."

"But-"

"Would you like me to call security to escort you out of my office?" he asked in a cold voice, and Moira shook her head. Shaw gave her a tight lipped smile. "Then please show yourself out. Enjoy the new job, Agent MacTaggert."

Moira thanked him quietly and shuffled quickly out of her boss' office, biting her lip to stop from crying. As soon as the door was closed, Shaw's face flattened into a cold glare. He picked up his cell phone and dialed a number which was written on a napkin in front of him. He placed the phone up to his ear and waited as it rang. After three rings, as usual, the person picked up.

"Have you gotten my dress from dry cleaning yet?" asked a woman's voice on the other end. Shaw smiled and played with a toothpick that had been laying on his desk.

"It was the pink one, correct?" he responded, and the woman on the other end laughed. "Emma Frost."

"Sebastian Shaw," Emma greeted him. "What's the news?"

Shaw picked at something on his desk with the toothpick, before tossing it into the garbage bin next to him. "I promoted Moira MacTaggert. She's no longer on our case. Has Janos met up with you yet?" he asked. Emma made a noise of confirmation from the other end. "Good, good. The boy is still in your custody?"

"Of course. I have him right here," Emma responded, sounding pleased with herself.

"Excellent. I should have the new case files by tonight. I hear you executed another kill without my authority, but I didn't hear who. Care to inform me?" he requested, and Emma sighed.

"It was just some lunatic who wandered in on one of our calls. I thought I'd dispose of her to make sure she couldn't give us away," the woman told him, and Shaw smiled.

"That was so kind of you, my love," he said, and Emma cooed from the other end. "And this seems to be the end of our call. Someone's approaching my office. Azazel's bar, tonight?"

"You've got it, sweetie," Emma confirmed, and Shaw made a kissing sound into the phone, hanging up the call.

* * *

"I deserve a damn Oscar," laughed the woman as she threw down Emma Frost's cell phone. "That _has_ to be my best performance yet! Wouldn't you say, Erik?"

A fair haired man in a black turtleneck wound his arms around the woman's body, resting his head on her shoulder. "You should be a movie star, Raven. You're certainly beautiful enough," he told her, kissing her neck gently. Raven laughed, knocking her head against his playfully.

"_Erik_," she warned jokingly, tilting her head up and kissing him on the neck. "We have to act quickly. Shaw doesn't know Frost is dead yet, and he'll be checking up on you as soon as he does." Erik made a noise of recognition, rocking her back and forth on their feet.

"Erik! Cut it out! You're making _Janos_ uncomfortable," the woman exclaimed, and both people looked down at the man who was currently tied to a wooden chair. "Hm," Raven pondered, feeling her cheeks and chin a bit. "I think we have a similar facial structure, don't we?" Raven asked, sauntering over and kneeling beside the dark haired man in the chair.

Her voice seemed to change suddenly, getting deeper and developing an accent. "And his hair is _so_ pretty."


	7. Chapter 7

**Just for clarification, Rogue's real name is Ann Marie Barfield in this AU**

"No no no, just hear me out, Logan!" Peter exclaimed as the leader of his team grumbled at him and tried to hang up. "We bulk buy Sharknado - like _bulk bulk_, like... 200 copies or something - and we _mail them_ to Charles' hotel room he's staying at. Yeah? Logan? Did you just- asshole hung up on me!" the silver haired detective complained as he walked toward his city apartment.

He bitched grumpily to himself, zipping up his black windbreaker and checking his email on his phone. It was a nice night, if a bit chilly, and he had been invited out drinking with the other detectives on the case. Logan, Angel, the mysterious Hank, and Alex were taking Moira out to celebrate her promotion. Charles wasn't going, and that had nearly convinced Peter to go as well, but he was tired and grouchy, and didn't want to ruin their trip.

Peter wanted to be happy for Moira, taking the spot of some higher up that he'd never met, _he really did want to be happy for her_, but her promotion meant she wouldn't be on their case anymore. And that put him in a _very_ bad mood. Peter sighed, tossing his hair out of his eyes as he read over his emails. There was the case file, and some things from his sister, and one from Charles, which he didn't bother to read.

The young detective went to put his phone back in his pocket as he rounded a corner, but suddenly ran smack into a man who was walking in the opposite direction of him. They both made surprised noises as they stumbled backwards, and the other man nearly toppled backwards. Luckily, Peter grabbed him by the lapels of his baby blue suit before he could fall.

"Thanks, man," the dark haired man laughed as Peter brushed him off. "That was close!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. Sorry, I didn't mean to run into you. Have a... uh..." Peter stated cheerily, before his brow furrowed and he faded off. The man smiled at him awkwardly. "Um... sorry... ah... have a..."

"You okay, kid?" the man asked with a slightly concerned note in his voice. Peter shook his head to try and get himself out of his thoughts, and bit his lip, clasping his hands together.

"Sorry, this might be a weird question, but... do I know you from somewhere?" he asked. The man visibly stiffened, but laughed nonetheless.

"I don't think so, kid. Sorry," the man shook his head, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants and walking away. Peter turned and watched him leave, entranced the the stranger. He looked familiar for some reason, but the young man couldn't put his finger on _why_. After a long while of staring at nothing and standing awkwardly on the street corner, Peter rubbed his eyes and started off toward his apartment again.

* * *

"I'm telling you, cheri, I don't like it," groaned a dark haired man as he slumped backwards on his bar stool. "Just because you are part of the PR does not mean you have to take that woman's position!" His girlfriend rolled her eyes at him, tossing her short white bangs out of her eyes.

"Remy, it's the biggest opportunity I've ever had. If somebody higher up then you was moved and _you_ were offered a better job, I'd say you should take it," she told him, taking a sip of her drink. "Besides, sugar, I won't be working with Bobby Drake anymore."

Remy took a swig of his beer, looking incredibly frustrated. "It's not that I don't want you to take the job, Rogue! It's just... I- _ugh!_" he fumed, his brow knit together.

"What?" Rogue demanded, leaning forward so she was closer to his face.

"It's just- maybe once this whole Magneto thing stops-" he tried, and Rogue raised her eyebrows at him.

"You don't think I can handle the _press_ for this case? Is that it?" she snapped, and he shook his head rapidly.

"No, love! I think you'd be able to handle it just fine! It's just- I just-" Remy stammered over his words, struggling to find the right ones. Rogue stuck her head out, crossing her arms.

"What is it?" she boomed.

"I think Shaw is shady as all fuck!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. A few heads turned, eyebrows raised, but not too much attention had been drawn. "And I don't want anything bad to happen to you!"

Rogue sighed, giving her boyfriend a smile. "Sweetie, I'll be fine. If it makes you more comfortable, I'm workin' with Logan," she told him, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes.

"I know you'll be fine, but I worry for you," he grumbled, lacing his fingers with hers. Rogue grinned at him, leaning forward and giving him a kiss on the nose. "Alright, cheri. Shall we make our way home?" he asked, standing up.

"Sure thing, sugar," Rogue agreed, turning on her heel toward the door. However, before they had much of a chance to go anywhere, Remy spotted someone he knew. Lifting his hand, the tall Cajun waved at a man in a baby blue suit, who was standing near an empty table. The man didn't see them, and Remy turned to his girlfriend.

"Can we go say hello for just a moment, love? The poor man just got fired," he informed her, and Rogue shrugged. Remy kissed her on the cheek and dragged her by the hand over to the man at the table, smiling. "Hello Janos!" he greeted. The man looked up and smiled.

"Remy leBeau! Good to see you! It's been a while, hasn't it?" the man, Janos, responded, opening his arms and kissing the taller man on both cheeks.

"Don't be so dramatic, we just saw each other a week ago," Remy chuckled, and Janos laughed, leaning on the table with his elbow. "Are you alright? Your voice sounds a bit funny. I mean... not _funny_, just... different?"

Janos waved him off. "Eh, I'm a bit sick. Probably a lot of the stress from getting sacked. Don't worry about it, though. I've already been offered a job with one of the local precincts." Remy raised his brow and smiled.

"That's amazing, Janos! I'm so happy for you!" he exclaimed, and Janos nodded, smiling slightly. "Well, we should probably get going. But call any time! I'd love to meet up with you over dinner soon!"

Janos gave Remy a pat on the back, nodding. "I'll probably take you up on that. Nice to see you, Marie," he nodded, and Rogue returned the smile.

"Nice to see you, Agent Quested," she responded. Janos laughed, waving his hand around.

"Please, just call me Janos. I'm not your superior anymore," he told her, and Rogue chuckled, putting her arm around her boyfriend's waist. "Well you two crazy kids get on your way. I'm waiting for a friend of mine, so I shouldn't be lonely for too much longer."

"Alright, well. See you soon, hopefully!" Remy grinned, slapping Janos on the shoulder and heading out of the bar with his arm around Rogue's shoulders. "He's a nice guy."

Rogue looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously?!" she asked with a laugh, "Everybody in PR was _terrified_ of him! We even had a nickname for him! It was Riptide, cause he was so scary."

Remy laughed, throwing his head back in amusement. "I'm gonna have to start callin' him that, cheri! He'd get a real chuckle. Not that I'd tell him where I got it or anything," he grinned, leaning down and kissing his girlfriend on the temple. "Anything you want to do when we get home?" Remy asked as they rounded the corner on the way to their apartment.

"I was thinking we could order some pizza. They just put the new Parks and Rec on Netflix, too. Sound good to you?" she asked, looking up at her boyfriend. Remy grinned, booping her on the nose with his finger.

"Sounds _perfect_ to me, cheri," he smiled as they entered their apartment complex, scaling the three flights of old wooden steps up to their home. The two walked down their hallway, stepping over their neighbor's legs as they made their way toward their door at the end of the hall. "Tough night, Peter?" joked Remy, looking down at the boy who was leaning tiredly against his door, seated on the ground.

"Tough as shit, man," the silver haired boy held up a piece of paper that was lying beside him. "I'm being evicted. This is the go or pay notice. And I lost my key," he groaned, looking up at Remy tiredly. "How's your guy's day been? I hear you might be taking Moira's place," he smiled at Rogue, who nodded. "That's cool."

"I'm so sorry about the eviction, baby boy. If you're really needin' a place to stay we've got a couch. I'm sure Remy won't mind," Rogue offered with a sad look in her eyes. Peter smiled at her and shook his head.

"Nah, I'm fine. I called Logan before my cell died, he said I could stay with him. Thank's for the offer though, Miss Barfield," he smiled, and Rogue bit her lip.

"Soon to be Mrs. LeBeau, if everything goes according to plan. Remy popped the question over the weekend," she told him, and Peter held out his fist for a fist bump.

"Congrats, guys. Well, I don't want to hold you up. Have a great night," he told them, giving the couple a small salute before looking back down at the eviction notice.

"Why don't you use the spare under your doormat?" Remy asked, referring to the lost key. Peter looked confused for a moment, his mouth hanging open, then he fell to the side, groaning. "You forgot about it, didn't you?" The boy nodded, still continuing to groan. "How long have you been out here?"

"Like a half an hour. Thanks, man," Peter complained as he retrieved the spare key from under his doormat, opening his door and dragging himself inside. "Have a good night."

"You too, Peter!" Rogue responded, giving him a small wave with her hand. When the door was closed, she rubbed her eyes with a long sigh. "Remy..." she began, and the Cajun cut her off, waving his hand and pulling her into his arms.

"Cheri, we don't need to talk about this again," he muttered into the top of her head. Rogue pulled away to look up into his eyes.

"I know, sugar, I- I just... I worry about the kid," she told him, her brow furrowed with concern. "Logan's a great guy, I know. I... ugh."

Remy nodded and leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead. "Peter can manage on his own. You are not his mother," he told her quietly.

"I know," she muttered, resting her head on his chest. They remained in that position for a minute or two, rocking back and forth in silence, before Rogue suddenly looked back up at him. "By the way, Remy?"

"Yes, cheri?" the man asked, still holding her close.

"That pizza isn't gonna order itself."


End file.
